They chisel their force into the dawning sky. <br />They forge their steeled selves on the precipice. <br />They split through the fog like axes <br />so that each breath shatters around them. <br />Morning announces itself with purple laughter. <br />The sky floods deep blue. <br />They keep watch, <br />barbed and shaven and grey, <br />naked there and as lost <br />in the ether. God is born.<br /><br />Ernst Toller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/factory-smokestacks-at-dawn/
